was considered moronic even by city troll standards. But that was simply because his brain was naturally optimized for a temperature seldom reached in Ankh-Morpork even during the coldest winter . . .
Now his brain was nearing its ideal temperature of operation. Unfortunately, this was pretty close to a troll's optimum point of And in the Guild's main hall the master butcher Gerhardt Sock was staggering around in circles. This was because Cuddy's boots were planted on his chest. The dwarf was hanging
Mark Spain Timeless BeautyMark Spain The Pink Dress
death.Part of his brain gave some thought to this. There was a high probability of rescue. That meant he'd have to leave. That meant he'd become stupid again, as sure as10-3(Me/Mp)a6aG – N = 10N.Better make the most of it, then.He went back to the world of numbers so complex that they had no meaning, only a transitional point of view. And got on with freezing to death, as well. Dibbler reached the Butchers' Guild very shortly after Cuddy. The big red doors had been kicked open and a small butcher was sitting just inside them rubbing his nose.'Which way did he go?''Dat way.'
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Henri Matisse Open Window Collioure
woof,' said Gaspode, his traitor tail wagging.
'I see you've got a lady friend, anyway,' said Carrot, patting him on the head and then absent-mindedly wiping his hand on his tunic.
'And, my word, what a splendid bitch,' he said. 'A Ramtop wolfhound, if I'm any judge.' He stroked Angua in a vague friendly way. 'Ohstale biscuit noisily, 'goes a very nice boy. Simple, but nice.'
'Yes, he is simple, isn't he?' said Angua. 'That's what I first noticed about him. He's simple. And everything else here is complicated.'
'He was making sheep's eyes at you earlier,' said Gaspode. 'Not that I've got anything against sheep's eyes, mind you. If they're fresh.'
'You're disgusting.', well,' he said. 'This isn't getting any work done, is it?''Woof, whine, give the doggy a biscuit,' said Gaspode.Carrot stood up and patted his pockets. 'I think I've got a piece of biscuit here – well, I could believe you understand every word I say . . .'Gaspode begged, and caught the biscuit easily.'Woof, woof, fawn, fawn,' he said.Carrot gave Gaspode the slightly puzzled look that people always gave him when he said 'woof instead of barking, nodded at Angua, and carried on towards Scoone Avenue and Lady Ramkin's house.'There,' said Gaspode, crunching the
'I see you've got a lady friend, anyway,' said Carrot, patting him on the head and then absent-mindedly wiping his hand on his tunic.
'And, my word, what a splendid bitch,' he said. 'A Ramtop wolfhound, if I'm any judge.' He stroked Angua in a vague friendly way. 'Ohstale biscuit noisily, 'goes a very nice boy. Simple, but nice.'
'Yes, he is simple, isn't he?' said Angua. 'That's what I first noticed about him. He's simple. And everything else here is complicated.'
'He was making sheep's eyes at you earlier,' said Gaspode. 'Not that I've got anything against sheep's eyes, mind you. If they're fresh.'
'You're disgusting.', well,' he said. 'This isn't getting any work done, is it?''Woof, whine, give the doggy a biscuit,' said Gaspode.Carrot stood up and patted his pockets. 'I think I've got a piece of biscuit here – well, I could believe you understand every word I say . . .'Gaspode begged, and caught the biscuit easily.'Woof, woof, fawn, fawn,' he said.Carrot gave Gaspode the slightly puzzled look that people always gave him when he said 'woof instead of barking, nodded at Angua, and carried on towards Scoone Avenue and Lady Ramkin's house.'There,' said Gaspode, crunching the
Monday, April 27, 2009
William Blake Jacob's Ladder
'About the recruits, sarge. Something they've got to take?' Carrot prompted.
Sergeant Colon rubbed his nose. Let's see . . . they had, as per standing orders, taken and signed for one shirt (mail, chain) one helmet, iron and copper, one breastplate, iron (except in the case of Lance-Constable Angua, who'd need to be fitted special, and Lance-Constable Detritus, who'd signed for a hastily adapted piece of armour which had once belonged to a he'd ever get to an oath was something like 'bugger this for a game of soldiers'.
'All right, then,' he said. 'You've all, er, got to take the oath . . . eh . . . and Corporal Carrot will show you how. Did you take the, er, oath when you joined us, Carrot?'
'Oh, yes, sarge. Only no-one asked me, so I gave war elephant), one truncheon, oak, one emergency pike or halberd, one crossbow, one hourglass, one short sword (except for Lance-Constable Detritus) and one badge, office of, Night Watchman's, copper.'I think they've got the lot, Carrot,' he said. 'All signed for. Even Detritus got someone to make an X for him.''They've got to take the oath, sarge.''Oh. Er. Have they?''Yes, sarge. It's the law.'Sergeant Colon looked embarrassed. It probably was the law, at that. Carrot was much better at this sort of thing. He knew the laws of Ankh-Morpork by heart. He was the only person who did. All Colon knew was that he'd never taken an oath when he joined, and as for Nobby, the best
Sergeant Colon rubbed his nose. Let's see . . . they had, as per standing orders, taken and signed for one shirt (mail, chain) one helmet, iron and copper, one breastplate, iron (except in the case of Lance-Constable Angua, who'd need to be fitted special, and Lance-Constable Detritus, who'd signed for a hastily adapted piece of armour which had once belonged to a he'd ever get to an oath was something like 'bugger this for a game of soldiers'.
'All right, then,' he said. 'You've all, er, got to take the oath . . . eh . . . and Corporal Carrot will show you how. Did you take the, er, oath when you joined us, Carrot?'
'Oh, yes, sarge. Only no-one asked me, so I gave war elephant), one truncheon, oak, one emergency pike or halberd, one crossbow, one hourglass, one short sword (except for Lance-Constable Detritus) and one badge, office of, Night Watchman's, copper.'I think they've got the lot, Carrot,' he said. 'All signed for. Even Detritus got someone to make an X for him.''They've got to take the oath, sarge.''Oh. Er. Have they?''Yes, sarge. It's the law.'Sergeant Colon looked embarrassed. It probably was the law, at that. Carrot was much better at this sort of thing. He knew the laws of Ankh-Morpork by heart. He was the only person who did. All Colon knew was that he'd never taken an oath when he joined, and as for Nobby, the best
Friday, April 24, 2009
Pop art guitar player
was the sound of hammering from across the street. A man was nailing something on his door. He glanced around in terror, saw Magrat, and darted inside.
What he had “I’m Weaver the thatcher.”
“And you know who I am?”
“Miss Garlick?”
“Come on, let me in!”
“Are you alone, miss?”
“Yes.”
The crack widened to a Magrat width.
236
LOR06 ftttQ LftQ(£6
There was one candle alight in the room. Weaver backed been nailing on the door was a horseshoe.Magrat tied the horse firmly to a tree and slid off its back. There was no reply to her knocking.Who was it who lived here? Carter the weaver, wasn’t it, or Weaver the baker?“Open up, man! It’s me, Magrat Garlick!”There was something white beside the doorstep.It turned out to be a bowl of cream.Again, Magrat thought of the cat Greebo. Smelly, unreli-able, cruel and vindictive—but who purred nicely, and had a bowl of milk every night.“Come on! Open up!”After a while the bolts slid back, and an eye was applied to a very narrow crack.“Yes?”“You’re Carter the baker, aren’t you?”
What he had “I’m Weaver the thatcher.”
“And you know who I am?”
“Miss Garlick?”
“Come on, let me in!”
“Are you alone, miss?”
“Yes.”
The crack widened to a Magrat width.
236
LOR06 ftttQ LftQ(£6
There was one candle alight in the room. Weaver backed been nailing on the door was a horseshoe.Magrat tied the horse firmly to a tree and slid off its back. There was no reply to her knocking.Who was it who lived here? Carter the weaver, wasn’t it, or Weaver the baker?“Open up, man! It’s me, Magrat Garlick!”There was something white beside the doorstep.It turned out to be a bowl of cream.Again, Magrat thought of the cat Greebo. Smelly, unreli-able, cruel and vindictive—but who purred nicely, and had a bowl of milk every night.“Come on! Open up!”After a while the bolts slid back, and an eye was applied to a very narrow crack.“Yes?”“You’re Carter the baker, aren’t you?”
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Apple Tree with Red Fruit
might not have been the best-informed girl in the world, but she wasn’t stupid. She was at the door and through it just as the breakfast tray hit the wall.
Magrat sat down on the bed with her head in her hands.
She didn’t want to do.
She dressed herself in her commoner’s clothes for the
‘ last time, and let herself out and down the back stairs to the
widdershins tower and the room where Diamanda lay
Magrat had instructed Shawn to keep a good fire going
171
Terry Pratchett
in the grate, and Diamanda was still sleeping, peacefully, the unwakeable sleep.be queen. Being a queen was like being an actor, and Magrat had never been any good at act-ing. She’d always felt she wasn’t very good at being Magrat, if it came to that.The bustle of the pre-nuptial activities rose up from the town. There’d be folkdancing, of course—there seemed to be no way of preventing it—and probably folksinging would be perpetrated. And there’d be dancing bears and comic jug-glers and the greasy pole competition, which for some rea-son Nanny Ogg always won. And bowling-with-a-pig. And the bran tub, which Nanny Ogg usually ran; it was a brave man who plunged his hand into a bran tub stocked by a witch with a broad sense of humor. Magrat had always liked the fairs. Up until now.Well, there were still some things she could
Magrat sat down on the bed with her head in her hands.
She didn’t want to do.
She dressed herself in her commoner’s clothes for the
‘ last time, and let herself out and down the back stairs to the
widdershins tower and the room where Diamanda lay
Magrat had instructed Shawn to keep a good fire going
171
Terry Pratchett
in the grate, and Diamanda was still sleeping, peacefully, the unwakeable sleep.be queen. Being a queen was like being an actor, and Magrat had never been any good at act-ing. She’d always felt she wasn’t very good at being Magrat, if it came to that.The bustle of the pre-nuptial activities rose up from the town. There’d be folkdancing, of course—there seemed to be no way of preventing it—and probably folksinging would be perpetrated. And there’d be dancing bears and comic jug-glers and the greasy pole competition, which for some rea-son Nanny Ogg always won. And bowling-with-a-pig. And the bran tub, which Nanny Ogg usually ran; it was a brave man who plunged his hand into a bran tub stocked by a witch with a broad sense of humor. Magrat had always liked the fairs. Up until now.Well, there were still some things she could
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Pop art why are you still here
You’ve come to call her, haven’t you? Let me see your hands.”
It wasn’t a request, it was a command. Diamanda found her hands moving of their own accord. Before she could pull them back the old Terry Pratchett
who’ll listen.” Granny Weatherwax’s eyes seemed to lose their focus.
“When you’re lonely, and people around you seem too stupid for words, and the world is full of secrets that no one’ll tell you ... “woman had grabbed them and held them firmly; her skin felt like sacking.“Never done a hard day’s work in your life, have you?” said Granny, pleasantly. “Never picked cabbages with the ice on ‘em, or dug a grave, or milked a cow, or laid out a corpse.”“You don’t have to do all that to be a witch!” Diamanda snapped.“Did I say so? And let me tell you something. About beautiful women in red with stars in their hair. And proba-bly moons, too. And voices in your head when you slept. And power when you came up here. She offered you lots of power, I expect. All you wanted. For free.”Diamanda was silent.“Because it happened before. There’s always someone111
It wasn’t a request, it was a command. Diamanda found her hands moving of their own accord. Before she could pull them back the old Terry Pratchett
who’ll listen.” Granny Weatherwax’s eyes seemed to lose their focus.
“When you’re lonely, and people around you seem too stupid for words, and the world is full of secrets that no one’ll tell you ... “woman had grabbed them and held them firmly; her skin felt like sacking.“Never done a hard day’s work in your life, have you?” said Granny, pleasantly. “Never picked cabbages with the ice on ‘em, or dug a grave, or milked a cow, or laid out a corpse.”“You don’t have to do all that to be a witch!” Diamanda snapped.“Did I say so? And let me tell you something. About beautiful women in red with stars in their hair. And proba-bly moons, too. And voices in your head when you slept. And power when you came up here. She offered you lots of power, I expect. All you wanted. For free.”Diamanda was silent.“Because it happened before. There’s always someone111
Monday, April 20, 2009
Leroy Neiman Resting Lion
he’s heavy. We could’ve done with young Magrat up here.”
“No. Flighty,” said Granny Weather-wax. “Head easily turned.”
“Nice girl, though.”
“But soppy. She thinks you can lead your life as if fairy stories work and folk songs are really true. Not that I don’t wish her every It took a while for letters to get as far as the Archchancellor. The post tended to be picked up from the University gates by anyone who happened to be passing, and then left lying on a shelf somewhere or used as a pipe lighter or a book-mark or, in the case of the Librarian, as bedding.
This one had only taken two days, and was quite intact apart from a couple of cup rings and a bananary fingerprint. It arrived on the table along with the other post while the faculty were at breakfast. The Dean opened it with a spoon.
“Anyone here know where Lancre is?” he said.
“Why?” said Ridcully, looking up sharply.happiness.”“Hope she does all right as queen,” said Nanny.“We taught her everything she knows,” said Granny Weatherwax.“Yeah,” said Nanny Ogg, as they disappeared into the bracken. “D’you think . .. maybe . .. ?”“What?”“D’you think maybe we ought to have taught her every-thing we know?”“It’d take too long.”“Yeah, right.”
“No. Flighty,” said Granny Weather-wax. “Head easily turned.”
“Nice girl, though.”
“But soppy. She thinks you can lead your life as if fairy stories work and folk songs are really true. Not that I don’t wish her every It took a while for letters to get as far as the Archchancellor. The post tended to be picked up from the University gates by anyone who happened to be passing, and then left lying on a shelf somewhere or used as a pipe lighter or a book-mark or, in the case of the Librarian, as bedding.
This one had only taken two days, and was quite intact apart from a couple of cup rings and a bananary fingerprint. It arrived on the table along with the other post while the faculty were at breakfast. The Dean opened it with a spoon.
“Anyone here know where Lancre is?” he said.
“Why?” said Ridcully, looking up sharply.happiness.”“Hope she does all right as queen,” said Nanny.“We taught her everything she knows,” said Granny Weatherwax.“Yeah,” said Nanny Ogg, as they disappeared into the bracken. “D’you think . .. maybe . .. ?”“What?”“D’you think maybe we ought to have taught her every-thing we know?”“It’d take too long.”“Yeah, right.”
Friday, April 17, 2009
Pop art chuck berry on pink
Magrat waited, and then tried the knocker.
After a few seconds Shawn opened the door. He was red in the face and had a powdered wig on back to front.
“Yeeeuss?” he drawled, and tried to look like a butler.
“You’ve . “You just keep movin’ slow and leave it to me.”
17
Terry Pratchett
He ran on ahead and flung open some double doors—
“Meeeyisss Magraaaaat Garrrrrli-ick!”
l and scurried toward the next set of doors.
still got your helmet on under the wig,” said Magrat helpfully.Shawn deflated. His eyes swiveled upward.“Everyone at the haymaking?” said Magrat.Shawn raised his wig, removed the helmet, and put the wig back. Then he distractedly put the helmet back on top of the wig.“Yes, and Mr. Spriggins the butler is in bed with his trouble again,” said Shawn. “There’s only me, miss. And I’ve got to get the dinner started before I’m off ‘ome because Mrs. Scorbic is poorly.”“You don’t have to show me in,” said Magrat. “I do know the way.”“No, it’s got to be done proper,” said Shawn
After a few seconds Shawn opened the door. He was red in the face and had a powdered wig on back to front.
“Yeeeuss?” he drawled, and tried to look like a butler.
“You’ve . “You just keep movin’ slow and leave it to me.”
17
Terry Pratchett
He ran on ahead and flung open some double doors—
“Meeeyisss Magraaaaat Garrrrrli-ick!”
l and scurried toward the next set of doors.
still got your helmet on under the wig,” said Magrat helpfully.Shawn deflated. His eyes swiveled upward.“Everyone at the haymaking?” said Magrat.Shawn raised his wig, removed the helmet, and put the wig back. Then he distractedly put the helmet back on top of the wig.“Yes, and Mr. Spriggins the butler is in bed with his trouble again,” said Shawn. “There’s only me, miss. And I’ve got to get the dinner started before I’m off ‘ome because Mrs. Scorbic is poorly.”“You don’t have to show me in,” said Magrat. “I do know the way.”“No, it’s got to be done proper,” said Shawn
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Vincent van Gogh Roses
dared to swivel his eyes sideways. Although the second figure rising from the hole was also wearing a filthy robe, there was no mistaking the paintbrush hairstyle.
He tried to say "Urn?"
"Shut up, "The Turtle Moves?" he ventured.
The knife was withdrawn, with obvious reluctance.
"I don't trust him," said the man. "We should shove him down the hole at least."
"Brutha's one of us," said Urn.you," said the other man, pressing the knife to his throat."Brutha?" said Urn. "You're alive?"Brutha moved his eyes from his captor to Urn in a way which he hoped would indicate that it was too soon to make any commitment on this point."He's all right," said Urn."All right? He's a priest!""But he's on our side. Aren't you, Brutha?"Brutha tried to nod, and thought: I'm on everyone's side. It'd be nice if, just for once, someone was on mine.The hand was unclamped from his mouth, but the knife remained resting on his throat. Brutha's normally careful thought processes ran like quicksilver.
He tried to say "Urn?"
"Shut up, "The Turtle Moves?" he ventured.
The knife was withdrawn, with obvious reluctance.
"I don't trust him," said the man. "We should shove him down the hole at least."
"Brutha's one of us," said Urn.you," said the other man, pressing the knife to his throat."Brutha?" said Urn. "You're alive?"Brutha moved his eyes from his captor to Urn in a way which he hoped would indicate that it was too soon to make any commitment on this point."He's all right," said Urn."All right? He's a priest!""But he's on our side. Aren't you, Brutha?"Brutha tried to nod, and thought: I'm on everyone's side. It'd be nice if, just for once, someone was on mine.The hand was unclamped from his mouth, but the knife remained resting on his throat. Brutha's normally careful thought processes ran like quicksilver.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Claude Monet Spring 1880
gateway to the labyrinth was wide open. The Ephebians had never seen the point of stopping people entering. Up a short side-tunnel the guide for the first sixth of the way slumbered on a bench, a candle guttering beside him. Above his alcove hung the bronze bell that would-be traversers of the maze used to summon him. Brutha slipped past.
"Brutha?"
"Yes, lord?"
"Lead the way through the labyrinth. I know you can."
"Lord-”. .
He let his sleeping mind take control. The way through the labyrinth unrolled in his head like a glowing wire .
. . . diagonally forward and right three and-a-half paces, and left sixty-three paces, pause two secondswhere a steely swish in the darkness suggested that one of the guardians had devised something that won him a prize-and up three steps . . .
I could run forward, he thought. I could hide"This is an order, Brutha," said Vorbis, pleasantly.There is no hope for it, Brutha thought. It is an order."Then tread where I tread, lord," he whispered. "Not more than one step behind me.""Yes, Brutha.""If I step around a place on the floor for no reason, you step around it too.""Yes, Brutha."Brutha thought: perhaps I could do it wrong. No. I took vows and things. You can't just disobey. The whole world ends if you start thinking like that .
"Brutha?"
"Yes, lord?"
"Lead the way through the labyrinth. I know you can."
"Lord-”. .
He let his sleeping mind take control. The way through the labyrinth unrolled in his head like a glowing wire .
. . . diagonally forward and right three and-a-half paces, and left sixty-three paces, pause two secondswhere a steely swish in the darkness suggested that one of the guardians had devised something that won him a prize-and up three steps . . .
I could run forward, he thought. I could hide"This is an order, Brutha," said Vorbis, pleasantly.There is no hope for it, Brutha thought. It is an order."Then tread where I tread, lord," he whispered. "Not more than one step behind me.""Yes, Brutha.""If I step around a place on the floor for no reason, you step around it too.""Yes, Brutha."Brutha thought: perhaps I could do it wrong. No. I took vows and things. You can't just disobey. The whole world ends if you start thinking like that .
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Thomas Kinkade NASCAR THUNDER
Trampling the infidel," said Brutha.
"Not my basic intention, but no doubt some trampling could have been arranged. Or a swan, I thought. Something impressive. Three years later, I wake up and it turns out I've been a tortoise. I mean, you don't get much , the part that could remember exactly what being a tortoise for three years had been like, whispered: no. You have to. If you want to be up there again. He's stupid and gormless
"When did you start think-when did you remember all this?" said Brutha, who found the phenomenon of forgetting a strange and fascinating one, as other men might find the idea of flying by flapping your arms."About two hundred feet above your vegetable garden," said Om, "which is not a point where it's fun to become sapient, I'm here to tell you.""But why?" said Brutha. "Gods don't have to stay tortoises unless they want to!""I don't know," lied Om.If he works it out himself I'm done for, he thought. This is a chance in a million. If I get it wrong, it's back to a life where happiness is a leaf you can reach.lower." Careful, careful . . . you need his help, but don't tell him everything. Don't tell him what you suspect.Part of him screamed: I'm a god! I don't have to think like this! I don't have to put myself in the power of a human!But another part
"Not my basic intention, but no doubt some trampling could have been arranged. Or a swan, I thought. Something impressive. Three years later, I wake up and it turns out I've been a tortoise. I mean, you don't get much , the part that could remember exactly what being a tortoise for three years had been like, whispered: no. You have to. If you want to be up there again. He's stupid and gormless
"When did you start think-when did you remember all this?" said Brutha, who found the phenomenon of forgetting a strange and fascinating one, as other men might find the idea of flying by flapping your arms."About two hundred feet above your vegetable garden," said Om, "which is not a point where it's fun to become sapient, I'm here to tell you.""But why?" said Brutha. "Gods don't have to stay tortoises unless they want to!""I don't know," lied Om.If he works it out himself I'm done for, he thought. This is a chance in a million. If I get it wrong, it's back to a life where happiness is a leaf you can reach.lower." Careful, careful . . . you need his help, but don't tell him everything. Don't tell him what you suspect.Part of him screamed: I'm a god! I don't have to think like this! I don't have to put myself in the power of a human!But another part
Andy Warhol Dollar Sign 1981
. Away to one side-port or starboard or one of those directions-a school of flying fish broke the surface in an attempt to escape the attentions of some dolphins. Brutha stared at the gray shapes as they zigzagged under the keel in a world where they never had to count at all
"Ah, Brutha," said Vorbis. "Feeding the fishes, I see."
"No, lord," said Brutha. "I'm being sick, lord."
He turned.
There was "Lord, I wish I wasn't a sailor at all," said Brutha. He felt the box trembling as Om bounced around inside.
"Kill him! Find something sharp! Push him overboard!"
"Come with us to the prow, Brutha," said Vorbis. "There are many interesting things to be seen, according to the captain."
The captain gave the frozen smirk of those caught between a rock and a hard place. Vorbis could always supply both.Sergeant Simony, a muscular young man with the deadpan expression of the truly professional soldier. He was standing next to someone Brutha vaguely recognized as the number-one salt or whatever his title was. And there was the exquisitor, smiling."Him! Him!" screamed the voice of the tortoise."Our young friend is not a good sailor," said Vorbis."Him! Him! I'd know him anywhere!"
"Ah, Brutha," said Vorbis. "Feeding the fishes, I see."
"No, lord," said Brutha. "I'm being sick, lord."
He turned.
There was "Lord, I wish I wasn't a sailor at all," said Brutha. He felt the box trembling as Om bounced around inside.
"Kill him! Find something sharp! Push him overboard!"
"Come with us to the prow, Brutha," said Vorbis. "There are many interesting things to be seen, according to the captain."
The captain gave the frozen smirk of those caught between a rock and a hard place. Vorbis could always supply both.Sergeant Simony, a muscular young man with the deadpan expression of the truly professional soldier. He was standing next to someone Brutha vaguely recognized as the number-one salt or whatever his title was. And there was the exquisitor, smiling."Him! Him!" screamed the voice of the tortoise."Our young friend is not a good sailor," said Vorbis."Him! Him! I'd know him anywhere!"
Monday, April 13, 2009
John Constable Salisbury Cathedral from the Meadows
seeing,' he said.
I taught you everything I know.
'I am thinking,' said Coin, 'that you do not know enough.'
Ingrate! Who gave you your destiny?
'You did,' said the boy. He raised his head.
'I realise He slithered away, and bumped into Hakardly. The old wizard was standing like a statue, with his mouth open.
'What'll happen?' said Rincewind.
'He'll never beat it,' said Hakardly hoarsely. 'It's his. It's as strong as him. He's got the power, but it knows how to channel it.'
'You mean they'll cancel each other out?'
'Hopefully.'that I was wrong,' he added, quietly.Good -'I did not throw you far enough!'Coin got to his feet in one movement and swung the staff over his head. He stood still as a statue, his hand lost in a ball of light that was the colour of molten copper. It turned green, ascended through shades of blue, hovered in the violet and then seared into pure octarine.Rincewind shaded his eyes against the glare and saw Coin's hand, still whole, still gripping tight, with beads of molten metal glittering between his fingers.
I taught you everything I know.
'I am thinking,' said Coin, 'that you do not know enough.'
Ingrate! Who gave you your destiny?
'You did,' said the boy. He raised his head.
'I realise He slithered away, and bumped into Hakardly. The old wizard was standing like a statue, with his mouth open.
'What'll happen?' said Rincewind.
'He'll never beat it,' said Hakardly hoarsely. 'It's his. It's as strong as him. He's got the power, but it knows how to channel it.'
'You mean they'll cancel each other out?'
'Hopefully.'that I was wrong,' he added, quietly.Good -'I did not throw you far enough!'Coin got to his feet in one movement and swung the staff over his head. He stood still as a statue, his hand lost in a ball of light that was the colour of molten copper. It turned green, ascended through shades of blue, hovered in the violet and then seared into pure octarine.Rincewind shaded his eyes against the glare and saw Coin's hand, still whole, still gripping tight, with beads of molten metal glittering between his fingers.
Friday, April 10, 2009
George Bellows Polo Crowd
realised he was talking to himself.
Nijel let go of the sword.
Conina , and added, 'Son of Harebut the-’
'Mighty,' said Nijel. Rincewind gaped a bit, and then shrugged.
'Well, whoever,' he conceded. 'Anyway, this is Conina. Which is rather a coincidence, because you'll be interested to know that her father was mmph.'
Conina, without turning her gaze, had extended a hand and held Rincewind's face in astepped forward.'Oh, no,' said Rincewind, but it was far too late. The world had suddenly separated into two parts - the bit which contained Nijel and Conina, and the bit which contained everything else. The air between them crackled. Probably, in their half, a distant orchestra was playing, bluebirds were tweeting, little pink clouds were barrelling through the sky, and all the other things that happen at times like this. When that sort of thing is going on, mere collapsing palaces in the next world don't stand a chance.'Look, perhaps we can just get the introductions over with,' said Rincewind desperately. 'Nijel-’'- the Destroyer-’ said Nijel dreamily.'All right, Nijel the Destroyer,' said Rincewind
Nijel let go of the sword.
Conina , and added, 'Son of Harebut the-’
'Mighty,' said Nijel. Rincewind gaped a bit, and then shrugged.
'Well, whoever,' he conceded. 'Anyway, this is Conina. Which is rather a coincidence, because you'll be interested to know that her father was mmph.'
Conina, without turning her gaze, had extended a hand and held Rincewind's face in astepped forward.'Oh, no,' said Rincewind, but it was far too late. The world had suddenly separated into two parts - the bit which contained Nijel and Conina, and the bit which contained everything else. The air between them crackled. Probably, in their half, a distant orchestra was playing, bluebirds were tweeting, little pink clouds were barrelling through the sky, and all the other things that happen at times like this. When that sort of thing is going on, mere collapsing palaces in the next world don't stand a chance.'Look, perhaps we can just get the introductions over with,' said Rincewind desperately. 'Nijel-’'- the Destroyer-’ said Nijel dreamily.'All right, Nijel the Destroyer,' said Rincewind
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Edward Hopper Les Pont Royal
man surrounded by three young women. He wore a purple robe interwoven with gold thread; they, as far as Rincewind could see, demonstrated that you could make six small saucepan lids and a few yards of curtain netting go a long way although - he shivered - not really far enough.
The man appeared to be writing. He glanced up at them.
'I suppose added.
'Really, how tiresome,' said the fat man, and clapped a pair of hands so heavy with rings that the sound was more of a clang. Two guards stepped forward smartly and cut the bonds, and then the whole battalion melted away, although Rincewind was acutely conscious of dozens of dark eyes watching them from the surrounding foliage. Animal instinct told him that, while he now appeared to be alone with the man and Conina, any aggressive moves on his part would suddenly make the world a sharp and painful place. He tried to radiate tranquillity and total friendliness. you don't know a good rhyme for "thou"?' he said peevishly.Rincewind and Conina exchanged glances.'Plough?' said Rincewind. 'Bough?''Cow?' suggested Conina, with forced brightness.The man hesitated. 'Cow I quite like,' he said, 'Cow has got possibilities. Cow might, in fact, do. Do pull up a cushion, by the way. Have some sherbet. Why are you standing there like that?''It's these ropes,' said Conina.'I have this allergy to cold steel,' Rincewind
The man appeared to be writing. He glanced up at them.
'I suppose added.
'Really, how tiresome,' said the fat man, and clapped a pair of hands so heavy with rings that the sound was more of a clang. Two guards stepped forward smartly and cut the bonds, and then the whole battalion melted away, although Rincewind was acutely conscious of dozens of dark eyes watching them from the surrounding foliage. Animal instinct told him that, while he now appeared to be alone with the man and Conina, any aggressive moves on his part would suddenly make the world a sharp and painful place. He tried to radiate tranquillity and total friendliness. you don't know a good rhyme for "thou"?' he said peevishly.Rincewind and Conina exchanged glances.'Plough?' said Rincewind. 'Bough?''Cow?' suggested Conina, with forced brightness.The man hesitated. 'Cow I quite like,' he said, 'Cow has got possibilities. Cow might, in fact, do. Do pull up a cushion, by the way. Have some sherbet. Why are you standing there like that?''It's these ropes,' said Conina.'I have this allergy to cold steel,' Rincewind
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Alfred Gockel Moved By The Music V
There was no analogy for the way in which Great A'Tuin the world turtle moved against the galactic night. When you are ten thousand miles long, your shell pocked with meteor craters and frosted with comet ice, there is absolutely nothing you can realistically be like except yourself.
So Great A'Tuin swam slowly through the interstellar deeps like the largest turtle there has ever been, carrying on its carapaceIt was pointy, of course, with a wide floppy brim, but after disposing of these basic details the designer had really got down to business. There was gold lace on there, and pearls, and bands of purest vermine, and sparkling Ankhstones[1], and some incredibly tasteless sequins, and - a dead giveaway, of course - a circle of octarines.
Since they weren't in a strong magical field at the moment they weren't glowing the four huge elephants that bore on their backs the vast, glittering waterfall-fringed circle of the Discworld, which exists either because of some impossible blip on the curve of probability or because the gods enjoy a joke as much as anyone.More than most people, in fact.Near the shores of the Circle Sea, in the ancient, sprawling city of Ankh-Morpork, on a velvet cushion on a ledge high up in the Unseen University, was a hat.It was a good hat. It was a magnificent hat.
So Great A'Tuin swam slowly through the interstellar deeps like the largest turtle there has ever been, carrying on its carapaceIt was pointy, of course, with a wide floppy brim, but after disposing of these basic details the designer had really got down to business. There was gold lace on there, and pearls, and bands of purest vermine, and sparkling Ankhstones[1], and some incredibly tasteless sequins, and - a dead giveaway, of course - a circle of octarines.
Since they weren't in a strong magical field at the moment they weren't glowing the four huge elephants that bore on their backs the vast, glittering waterfall-fringed circle of the Discworld, which exists either because of some impossible blip on the curve of probability or because the gods enjoy a joke as much as anyone.More than most people, in fact.Near the shores of the Circle Sea, in the ancient, sprawling city of Ankh-Morpork, on a velvet cushion on a ledge high up in the Unseen University, was a hat.It was a good hat. It was a magnificent hat.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Pablo Picasso Bread and Fruit Dish on a Table
them,” Mr. Brooks moved his hands graphically,
and Magrat leaned forward, “all among the combs, the
drones all hummin’, and all the time they can sense one
another, ‘cos they can tell, see, and then they spots one
another and—“
“Yes? Yes?” said Magrat, leaning forward.
“Slash! Stab!”
Magrat hit her head on the wall of the hut.
“Can’t have more’n one queen in very short row of trembling girls.
“What’s your name, girl?”
“Magenta Frottidge, ma’am.”
“I bet that’s not what your mum calls you?”
104
LORDS fttfO Lft0/£6
and Magrat leaned forward, “all among the combs, the
drones all hummin’, and all the time they can sense one
another, ‘cos they can tell, see, and then they spots one
another and—“
“Yes? Yes?” said Magrat, leaning forward.
“Slash! Stab!”
Magrat hit her head on the wall of the hut.
“Can’t have more’n one queen in very short row of trembling girls.
“What’s your name, girl?”
“Magenta Frottidge, ma’am.”
“I bet that’s not what your mum calls you?”
104
LORDS fttfO Lft0/£6
Monday, April 6, 2009
Rene Magritte Woman Bathing
Death reached down calmly and picked up a complicated-looking spindle as it pinwheeled towards his feet. It had been bent into a right-angle. Miss Flitworth peered around him.
‘What happened?’
I THINK THE ELLIPTICAL CAM HAS GRADUALLY SLID UP THE BEAM SHAFT AND CAUGHT ON THE FLANGE REBATE. WITH DISASTROUS RESULTS.
Death stared defiantly at the grey watchers. One by one, they began to disappear.
He picked up the pocket of his Bill Door overall, which he was still wearing underneath.
WHEN MR SIMNEL COMES TO COLLECT THE BITS IN THE MORNING HE
WILL PROBABLY BE LOOKING FOR THIS, he said, and dropped something small and bevelled into her hand.
‘What is it?’
A THREE-EIGHTHS GRIPLEY.
the scythe.AND NOW I MUST GO, he said.Miss FIitworth looked horrified.’What? Just like that?’YES. EXACTLY LIKE THAT. I HAVE A LOT OF WORK TO DO.‘And I won’t see you again? I mean -‘OH. YES. SOON. He sought for the right words, and gave up. THAT’S A PROMISE.Death pulled up his robe and reached into
‘What happened?’
I THINK THE ELLIPTICAL CAM HAS GRADUALLY SLID UP THE BEAM SHAFT AND CAUGHT ON THE FLANGE REBATE. WITH DISASTROUS RESULTS.
Death stared defiantly at the grey watchers. One by one, they began to disappear.
He picked up the pocket of his Bill Door overall, which he was still wearing underneath.
WHEN MR SIMNEL COMES TO COLLECT THE BITS IN THE MORNING HE
WILL PROBABLY BE LOOKING FOR THIS, he said, and dropped something small and bevelled into her hand.
‘What is it?’
A THREE-EIGHTHS GRIPLEY.
the scythe.AND NOW I MUST GO, he said.Miss FIitworth looked horrified.’What? Just like that?’YES. EXACTLY LIKE THAT. I HAVE A LOT OF WORK TO DO.‘And I won’t see you again? I mean -‘OH. YES. SOON. He sought for the right words, and gave up. THAT’S A PROMISE.Death pulled up his robe and reached into
Friday, April 3, 2009
Wassily Kandinsky Squares with Concentric
AM SORRY.
There was a pause.
‘Is that you, young Egbert?’
NO. IT IS ME, OLD BILL DOOR.
There was a series of thumps and twanging noises as the top half of the human extricated itself from the IS. ‘I mean your hand, Mr Door.’
Bill Door hesitated, and then put his hand in the young man’s palm. The oil-rimmed eyes glazed for a moment. as the brain overruled the sense of touch, and then the smith smiled.
‘The name’s Simnel. What do you think, eh?’machinery, and turned out to belong to a young man with black curly hair, a black face, black shirt, and black apron. He wiped acloth across his face, leaving a pink smear, and blinked the sweat out of his eyes.‘Who’re you?’GOOD OLD BILL DOOR? WORKING FOR MISS FLITWORTH?‘Oh, yes. The man in the fire? Hero of the hour, I heard. Put it there.’He extended a black hand. Bill Door looked at it blankly. I AM SORRY. I STILL DO NOT KNOW WHAT A THREE-EIGHTHS GRIPLEY
There was a pause.
‘Is that you, young Egbert?’
NO. IT IS ME, OLD BILL DOOR.
There was a series of thumps and twanging noises as the top half of the human extricated itself from the IS. ‘I mean your hand, Mr Door.’
Bill Door hesitated, and then put his hand in the young man’s palm. The oil-rimmed eyes glazed for a moment. as the brain overruled the sense of touch, and then the smith smiled.
‘The name’s Simnel. What do you think, eh?’machinery, and turned out to belong to a young man with black curly hair, a black face, black shirt, and black apron. He wiped acloth across his face, leaving a pink smear, and blinked the sweat out of his eyes.‘Who’re you?’GOOD OLD BILL DOOR? WORKING FOR MISS FLITWORTH?‘Oh, yes. The man in the fire? Hero of the hour, I heard. Put it there.’He extended a black hand. Bill Door looked at it blankly. I AM SORRY. I STILL DO NOT KNOW WHAT A THREE-EIGHTHS GRIPLEY
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Joaquin Sorolla y Bastida Sewing the Sail
sun was near the horizon.
The shortest-lived creatures on the Disc were mayflies, which barely make it through twenty-four hours. Two of the oldest zigzagged aimlessly over the waters of a trout stream, discussing history with some younger members of the evening hatching.
‘You don’t get the kind of sun now that you used to get, ‘ said one of them.
‘You’re right there. We had proper sun in the good old hours. It were all yellow. None of this red stuff.’
‘It were higher, too.’
‘It was. You’re right.’
‘And nymphs and larvae showed you a bit of respect.’
‘They.’And there was a cow.’ ‘That’s right! You’re right! I remember that cow! Stood right over there for, oh, forty, fifty minutes. It was brown, as I recall.’ ‘You don’t get cows like that these hours.’
‘You don’t get cows at all.’
‘What’s a cow?’ said one of the hatchlings.
‘See?’ said the oldest mayfly triumphantly.’That’s modern did. They did,’ said the other mayfly vehemently. ‘I reckon, if mayflies these hours behaved a bit better, we’d still be having proper sun.’The younger mayflies listened politely.‘I remember, ‘ said one of the oldest mayflies, ‘when all this was fields, as far as you could see.’The younger mayflies looked around.‘It’s still fields,’ one of them ventured, after a polite interval.‘I remember when it was better fields,’ said the old mayfly sharply.‘Yeah, ‘ said his colleague
The shortest-lived creatures on the Disc were mayflies, which barely make it through twenty-four hours. Two of the oldest zigzagged aimlessly over the waters of a trout stream, discussing history with some younger members of the evening hatching.
‘You don’t get the kind of sun now that you used to get, ‘ said one of them.
‘You’re right there. We had proper sun in the good old hours. It were all yellow. None of this red stuff.’
‘It were higher, too.’
‘It was. You’re right.’
‘And nymphs and larvae showed you a bit of respect.’
‘They.’And there was a cow.’ ‘That’s right! You’re right! I remember that cow! Stood right over there for, oh, forty, fifty minutes. It was brown, as I recall.’ ‘You don’t get cows like that these hours.’
‘You don’t get cows at all.’
‘What’s a cow?’ said one of the hatchlings.
‘See?’ said the oldest mayfly triumphantly.’That’s modern did. They did,’ said the other mayfly vehemently. ‘I reckon, if mayflies these hours behaved a bit better, we’d still be having proper sun.’The younger mayflies listened politely.‘I remember, ‘ said one of the oldest mayflies, ‘when all this was fields, as far as you could see.’The younger mayflies looked around.‘It’s still fields,’ one of them ventured, after a polite interval.‘I remember when it was better fields,’ said the old mayfly sharply.‘Yeah, ‘ said his colleague
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